Words Unsaid, Things Unmended
by DM92
Summary: A sequel to "Who Will Watch the Watchers?". Takes place on the ship after the season finale. A much-needed conversation between Snow and Regina, where the things not said are just as important as those that are.


After things settled down on the ship; after Hook and Gold stopped sniping and Hook took his place at the wheel with a final irritable look at Gold; after Gold limped away belowdecks for "a rest" with an expression on his face that was half disgust, half maddening smugness; and after Emma stopped stealing furtive glances at Regina, who was expertly avoiding her gaze, and instead seized her father and pulled him up to the stern of the ship, determined to talk sailing with the captain, brushing past Snow with a look that dared her to ask anything; Snow watched from the steps as Regina walked unsteadily up to the port bow and leaned upon the railing, holding her elbows and leaning a cheek forlornly on her shoulder. The wind blew her hair backwards and Snow couldn't see her face, but she imagined the mayor was enjoying some longed-for solitude. Regina didn't look back at anyone else for a good ten minutes, time that Snow used to gather her courage and think through what she wanted to say.

Finally she swallowed and stood up, steadying herself against the powerful roll of the ship, and minced her way over to Regina's side, hesitating for a moment before quietly copying Regina's pose and turning her gaze to the endless sunlit ocean before them. It was all so bright: the glaring sun hitting the waves, which split and shattered the light into blinding fragments that disappeared instantly, only to reappear in another dazzling configuration of light shards with every shift of the water, an endless dance of diamonds. Snow leaned forward and watched the bow waves, mountains of white foam erupting ceaselessly from the side of the ship, first larger, then smaller, then larger again. She felt an urge to reach out and try to brush it with her fingertips, though she knew she would never be able to reach that far down.

Smiling at her silliness, Snow glanced over at the mayor, whose eyes were closed; feeling a little braver knowing that Regina wasn't watching, she lifted her eyes to the brightness of the sky and breathed deeply, eyes drifting closed as she savored the unfamiliar tang of the open ocean. Sure, she had been down by the docks many times; she'd walked along the beach once in a while, picking up white shells that she arranged on the windowsill in the bathroom once she got home; David had even convinced her to go fishing once off the end of the pier once (after five hours of what seemed like pointless waiting, they never caught anything, and ended up cooking the rest of their bait for a pathetic dinner that they laughed hysterically about afterward). All the ocean she'd ever experienced had been still, mostly, and smelled of rotting seaweed; seagulls and cormorants made their marks all over quietly creaking wood; and there was always something pressing back home, on land, to attend to—dinner, or lesson plans, or the heating bill.

But this was different; this ocean had no beginning, no end; there were no responsibilities to cut a visit short; there was no option of turning back. She was here, alive, free; she was on a mission, on an adventure; she was brave. The sea smelled of new beginnings, open pages, possibility. It was absurdly poetic, and Snow laughed out loud, leaning back and gripping the rail with just her hands, almost giddy with joy. She pulled forward again and turned to Regina, still grinning, and was delighted to see the corners of the mayor's mouth lift almost despite herself. Regina opened her eyes, looked sideways at Snow, and raised an eyebrow. Snow's smile faded as she studied Regina's face and thought about what the woman in front of her had accomplished in the past few days. Her eyes lingered on the reddish-brown scars that were still visible at her temples; Snow knew they marred her arms and stomach as well. Regina, apparently uncomfortable with the scrutiny, turned her gaze back over the water and said nothing.

"Thank you, Regina," said Snow, soft enough so that Regina knew she meant it, so tenderly that Regina's eyes were forced downward, her hair obscuring her face as the wind blew it haphazardly around.

"You saved my life, the lives of everyone I care about. I know you didn't do it for me, or for anyone else, except Henry, of course. But…" she hesitated, wanting to say this properly. "But I hope you realize that love…can do that. It can be powerful enough, make you strong enough, to choose the right path, even when it's not the easiest." She spoke slowly, weighing every word carefully against the pain she knew Regina was feeling. "It can give you the strength to—" she cast about for the right words, "—to forgive those who don't really deserve it. Or to sacrifice in the face of fear and hate."

She watched Regina for another moment, then said quietly, "I don't know if you remember what happened after…after we brought you home from the warehouse—"

Regina looked up at her, eyes sharp and unforgiving. "Yes, I do." Her expression warned against mentioning the specifics.

Snow White hesitated again, then continued, "Well—I meant what I said. I'm—I have a lot to be sorry for, and I know you have every right to—hate me, or to—to never want to see me ever again. But—"

"I don't hate you." The words were so soft that they would have been impossible to believe had Snow not watched Regina's lips forming them. The mayor's eyes were fixed on the seam of her glove, but Snow knew she was not finished talking. So she waited.

After a moment, Regina said, "I told you once that you'd always seen yourself as innocent. But I know now that I was wrong. It's just…always been easier for you to do the right thing. To act as if you've never been hurt before." She rubbed a line along the wood of the railing with her leather-clad finger, missing the guilty twist of Snow's mouth, the downward dart of her eyes.

"I don't know why, but you never turned to revenge when you were hurt," she continued quietly. "I did. I was convinced revenge for what was lost was more important than hope for the love that could be. And _every_ _time_," she laughed incredulously, bitterly, "every time I tried revenge and it didn't work, I was convinced that I had to try harder at it; but the few times I tried love and I ran into a—" here she glanced with a slightly hurt expression at Snow, "—a roadblock," (and Snow's insides curdled as the memories flashed in her mind's eye: celebratory dinner without her grandson's mother, letting Henry leave Storybrooke without Regina's consent, her own absolute certainty that Regina had murdered one of the only people who had ever offered her kindness and understanding), "I told myself that it wasn't worth it. That love was weakness," she concluded, dropping the words like stones in the rhythm of her mother's voice.

"Regina…" said Snow, shaking her head and gently covering her stepmother's gloved hand with her own (the other woman looked slightly alarmed but didn't move her hand away). "I know that you've…always fought to be strong. To…show no weakness." Snow dipped her head forward, trying to catch Regina's eyes. "What you did in the mines," her voice lifting like a question, as if out here in the sun Regina might have forgotten the terror and the hopelessness of what had happened underground, "was _incredible_. By itself, that was an amazing show of strength.

"But the fact that you were willing to sacrifice yourself" Snow continued earnestly, "knowing you had no hope of coming out alive…doing that for an _entire town _despite the fact that they feared you…It shows that you are capable of good. Of _love_. You showed a different kind of strength down there, Regina," and finally, the mayor lifted broken eyes to Snow's face, which was open and shining with something that looked very much like pride. "_Real_ strength. No amount of magic can compare to that."

"I know you've been through the unthinkable…and I know that you feel safest alone. But—if you're willing, Regina, I—I want to pick up where we left off. As…well, maybe not as mother and daughter," she said hurriedly, "but maybe—friends? Allies? In-laws, at the very least, since you and Emma share a son," and Regina gave a watery laugh that made Snow's heart glow.

"But I meant it, earlier," Snow said seriously, watching Regina, who had turned her face back to the ocean. "I've always seen you as family. All I wanted was for us to live happily ever after. And I'm so sorry for what I did to ruin that—to ruin your happiness.

"But I promise, I've changed. You changed me, Regina," said Snow, taking both the mayor's hands in her own, forcing Regina to face her. Regina looked up reluctantly from their hands into Snow's sincere face. "_I want to be better._ I want to help you be better. We have to stop living in the past, there's too much pain there. I know you're a good person. Help me be a good person too," Snow pleaded. "I want you to be able to trust me again. I want to know that—that the pain I caused, I can undo. Will you trust me, Regina?"


End file.
